My People

My people, good people bad people Try them, have a taste, How do you like the sweet aloe Vera? My people are black, dark Not that it bothers me but It might explain the odd comportment My people have black hearts, rotting From stabs of lovers, or so conjured Woe unto the young, they drink from this culture My people have choices, confusing Do they want you? Maybe, Yes, No Yet like a dog owner, drag you along My people are deaf, blind deaf “He is your brother not mpamba” Come tomorrow, his bones ripped off of fresh My people have a habit, bad manners They hate their black genes And taint them in breaches My people have issues, unending Every single move that you make Is treated with moot authenticity My people have complaints, annoying They want to be great yet sit before televisions And blame God their father; “why not us?” My people are weird, absurd They make laws imposed on others While they break without hesitation My people are strange, I love them These sons and daughters of black kings It’s not death that I wish on them, they are my people.